


Trade

by Cloudnine101



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bodyswap, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 01:14:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5072299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudnine101/pseuds/Cloudnine101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"I don't want your body," Dean hisses, and then stomps off to calm down.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The body-swap-soulmates AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trade

They begin the day as normal. It's summer - the weeks promise to be long, and hot. They seem to stretch out indefinitely.

They sit on Dean's porch and drink lemonade. Dean's wearing sunglasses. He has his head tilted back; behind the shades, his eyes are closed. Castiel can watch him blissfully unobserved.

In Castiel's mind, every feature of Dean's is perfectly positioned. His nose is not too long, nor his eyes too close together - every freckle, every eyelash, every splodge of uneven skin forms a precise part of the whole.

"It's my Trade tomorrow," Dean murmurs, snapping Castiel out of his thoughts. "You ready for that?"

Castiel sighs. "No," he says. "Not really."

 

.

 

It's a fact, known throughout the world, that the vast majority of teenagers cannot wait for their eighteenth birthday. Castiel knows this.

Technically, though, it could occur before they're eighteen. It happens when their soulmate reaches legality - which is what their society has been built around, Castiel supposes. A name. Your soulmate, to be precise. Your soulmate's sweet eighteenth.

It's a game that Castiel plays with himself, sometimes - that one morning, he'll wake up, and he won't be himself. His soulmate will have turned eighteen, and he'll be walking around in their shoes. 

It happens with everyone. Everybody has a shared experience. His mother's generation called it body-swapping. Now, though, it's simply The Trade. A Very Special Day for Everyone Concerned. Kids always have had a habit of shortening statements. 

Castiel doesn't know whose body he's going to end up with, when he Trades. It could be anyone, technically. They could be in a different state. A different country. He could have no way of contacting them whatsoever. For all Castiel knows, his soulmate could be a yak. At the present date, it's seeming increasingly likely.

In Castiel's mind, his soulmate is a man. He's tall - he has blonde hair, and likes to go running in the morning. Maybe he'll be a couple of years older than Castiel. He's a businessman - in his lunch hour, he feeds ducks in the park. He's handsome, and charming, and everything that Castiel's family would thoroughly approve of. 

And that, Castiel thinks, is the way it's going to be. He's going to find the man - or, perhaps, woman - he's meant to be madly in love with for the rest of his life. Or so the stories claim.

Castiel's heard the rumours, of course. It doesn't always work out. It didn't for his own parents. It didn't for his sister, and her rather, to put it lightly, flighty man. The Novak family has never really been lucky in love. Castiel rather doubts that he's going to be the one to break the pattern.

Some people don't have soulmates. Castiel wouldn't mind that. It would be nice, to be relieved of the constant pressure of expectation-worry-hope. He can see it in Hannah's eyes - in every second that ticks down, as she swoops in for the weekend in a flurry of hugs and kisses.

It's two weeks away from Castiel's Very Special Day.

Dean's own birthday is tomorrow.

 

.

 

They spend Dean's last night in his room. It seems a fitting end. They lie down on his floor, curled side by side, and stare at the stars they pasted onto his ceiling.

"I'm gonna have a soulmate," Dean says, as though that fact wasn't inherently obvious. "Some girl's gonna be in love with me, tomorrow."

"Congratulations," Castiel says, feeling his stomach lurch. It always does, when Dean looks at him like that. He feels as though he's going off the edge of a cliff. "You must try and get in contact with me."

"I will," Dean promises, but already, Castiel can feel the hollowness behind the words. He'll be getting to know his soulmate's life - explaining to their friends, their family, their co-workers that their very existence is about to change. "What if it's a kid?"

"Then you'll wait." Castiel lies back on his elbows. The light from the windows casts Dean's face in silver. Castiel studies the lines of it: his jaw, his lips, the frown-lines around his eyes. "It won't last forever. You'll be happy."

"Yeah." Dean sighs. Some of the tension leaves his form, but not all of it - not nearly enough. If Castiel could, he'd massage the aches away himself - if he had any right. "You're a good friend, Cas."

The I'll miss you hangs unspoken between them. Castiel's chest hammers. "I'll be there for her. You'll soulmate. I'll ensure she stays calm. I'll look after her."

Dean's mouth twists. There's sadness in his eyes - Castiel's sure of it. And why wouldn't there be? Dean must value their friendship, too. Surely he understands that, after tonight, things can never be the same.

"She's a lucky girl," Dean chuckles, batting Castiel's arm. "Hunk like you, making sure she's alright? She'll be just fine."

Despite himself, Castiel glows at the praise. "Thank you," he gets out, past his swollen tongue. "I am in earnest, though."

"So am I." Dean's eyes are clouded - thoughtful. If Castiel closed his own, he could draw every line on Dean's face behind them. "C'm'ere, bud."

Castiel obliges; resting his head on top of Dean's chest, he smiles at the sensation. It's the closest he's ever going to get to Dean's arms around him.

They don't speak anymore, after that. Gradually, Dean's breathing slows - and then, suddenly, he's asleep. Castiel is glad of it. That way, he doesn't have to experience the Trade. Hannah described it as being dragged head-first through a dumpster. His mother's story wasn't much prettier.

Castiel doesn't sleep until long after sunlight has begun to trickle through the curtains. Eventually, though, he can't keep his eyes open any longer. He sleeps.

 

.

 

When Castiel wakes up, there's a cramp in his neck, and a weight on his chest. For a second, he's unsure of his surroundings. His own bedroom is far tidier than this - and then there's the sense of sheer, blind panic, the knowledge that Dean has gone, and that somebody else is near him.

Castiel tries to move to his feet, but realises that there is somebody sleeping on his chest. They must have changed places during the night, at some point. It wouldn't have been hard to do. Castiel had been in the midst of the strangest dream.

Bracing himself, Castiel prepares to look down. Logically, he knows that Dean's face will still be present - but even so, he can't help but expect another to be there, nuzzling against him, content and unaware.

Just how he's going to keep his promise to Dean, Castiel has no idea. What will this girl - and she is a girl, cannot be older than Dean - want to hear? That she's safe? That Castiel will not hurt her? That Dean is a good - a kind - man?

Castiel grits his teeth. His hands ball into fists. He looks down.

His own eyes meet him. It is, unmistakably, himself. Castiel would be a fool not to recognise it.

The implications of this only sink in a few moments later.

"Oh my God," Dean - who is wearing Castiel's skin - says.

 

.

 

John and Mary Winchester are two of the most loving parents Castiel has ever met. They are kind, and reasonably gentle, and have a seemingly never-ending desire to see the best for Dean. They're - soft, is the only way Castiel can describe them. Sensitive.

"I knew it," Mary mutters, before doubling over with hysterical laughter. Even John's lips begin to twitch.

"This is serious!" Dean whines. Castiel half-expects him to stamp his foot. "What are we gonna do about this, huh?"

"I knew it," Mary repeats, "I just - honey, your dad owes me so much cash - "

"I hear you, I hear you." John rolls his eyes. "I'll fork it out, don't worry. Well done, Dean. You've got a keeper."

"I'm not - " Castiel starts, but Dean's whirling on him. Castiel's never noticed the difference in height between them so potently. Dean barely comes up to his nose.

"I don't want your body," Dean hisses, and then stomps off to calm down.

Castiel stares at his hands - at Dean's hands. He turns them over. "I'm sorry," he calls out, but Dean doesn't seem to hear.

 

.

 

By lunchtime, Castiel had telephoned his sister (who is horrifyingly enthusiastic), and walked back home to give his mother the good news.

("I Traded with Dean," Castiel told her. "As you can see." Putting out his arms, he did a little turn of effect. He'd been tempted to add a _ta-da_.

Over the tops of her glasses, his mother had peered at him. "You and Dean Winchester, hm?" Castiel nodded. She'd smiled. "His dad is gonna be a great deal poorer tonight. He'll have had to pay up twice."

Castiel didn't desire to think about that.)

"So," Sam says, at the table of Dean's house. "You two Traded, huh?"

In Castiel's opinion, he sounds far too happy about it.

"Sam," Mary Winchester chides, slicing her carrot into lopsided halves. "Behave."

John Winchester snorts.

"It'll be over by tonight," Dean mutters, attacking his potatoes with gusto. Castiel can't stop himself from watching - because that's him, on the other side of the table, gripping the knife as though he could throttle it. "Quit whining."

Castiel always knew this day was coming. He didn't know it was going to feel like this.

"Not whining," Sam chirrups. "I'm just - don't you two think this is weird?"

"I can assure you that it is," Castiel says, and is surprised by how low his voice sounds. Dean's head snaps up. His throat bobs. It's strange, to see him with blue eyes.

"Lay it on thick, why don't you," Dean mutters.

Castiel finds himself frowning. "Why wouldn't it be odd? We've just discovered that we're - "

"We are not soulmates." Dean's on his feet in an instant, anger flaring brightly. "We are never gonna be soulmates."

"Dean," his mother says, but Dean's already halfway out the door. Dean's parents exchange looks.

"Excuse me," Castiel stammers, and runs after him.

 

.

 

The first time Castiel saw Dean, they were five years old. He had been visiting his father (an event he supposes he must have looked forward to, once upon a time), trotting merrily along, when suddenly a firework had skidded across the road in front of him.

It hadn't been an actual firework, of course. It had seemed that way.

Hannah had yanked him to a halt, her hand tight in his own, and screamed blue murder until the boy ran off, dragging his bicycle with him.

That boy had been Dean. He had blonde hair, and sunny eyes, and he'd been on the brink of crying, red-nosed and ashen.

Castiel can still remember the day.

 

.

 

"Dean?" In the doorway, Castiel can't help but hesitate. Dean looks so lost. He's sitting on the end of the bed, with his head in his hands. He doesn't appear to be crying, though. Not yet. "Can I - can we talk?"

"Knock yourself out," is Dean's reply.

"I hope that isn't literal." Dean huffs out a laugh, which Castiel is willing to construe as progress. Gingerly, he lowers himself onto the edge of the bed. Dean shuffles across to give him room. "I am sorry about all this. I know it wasn't what you wanted."

"It's not - that." Dean swallows. He looks ideal in this light, as in every other. Castiel is suddenly struck by the thought that not only is he in love with this boy, but also that he will never be loved back. "I - I guess there's no point hiding it now, huh?" 

"Hiding what?" Castiel asks. 

"Cas," Dean says. "This is - this is exactly what I wanted. And that's the problem."

Castiel blinks. "Oh? How so?"

Dean runs a hand across his eyes. He takes a deep breath. "I've been trying to man up and kiss you since third grade," he says.

Castiel's eyebrows shoot off his forehead. "Okay," he says. "That may be the last thing I was expecting."

Dean giggles. Out of the corner of his eye, he shoots Castiel a shy glance. Castiel's not sued to seeing him uncertain. It makes a pleasant change.

"I do - like you," Dean says. "Like that. So we're clear." 

"Then _why_ \- ?" 

Dean exhales. "I'm not what you need, Cas. You - you're gonna head out of town, and you're gonna have your own life. I got ready for that. I - " 

Dean's knuckles are whitening. Reaching across, Castiel takes hold of Dean's hands, and grips on tight. Dean's breath hitches. He coughs; their eyes meet. Castiel does his best not to glance away, despite how difficult that is. To Castiel, there has never been anyone more beautiful than Dean. It's a fact. 

"Hey," Dean says, after a beat. "Can I do something really stupid?"

Castiel shrugs. "If you want to, I suppose."

Dean leans forward, and kisses him. It surprises Castiel no end. For a second, all he can think about is the slight scruff on Dean's chin, and the movement downstairs - and then this, this, is how it's done.

Castiel amazes himself by relaxing. Dean's hands on his arms feel solid - he's secure, and safe, and everything feels as though it's going to work out. 

"I'm kissing myself," Castiel gets out, past the drumming in his head. Dean's laughter echoes through him.

 

.

 

When he wakes the following morning, he has Dean's head on his chest. Castiel blinks a few times - and it all comes rushing back to him, Dean's eyes and Dean's hands and the rain on the window-panes.

"Morning," Dean mumbles. Peering blearily upwards, he pushes a strand of hair out of Castiel's eyes, and smirks. "You're pretty when you're tired."

Castiel hums, warmth building in his chest. "Go back to sleep," he whispers, and kisses the crown of Dean's head. 

They're lying like that when Dean's parents find them.


End file.
